


gettin' bi

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, the actual wlw/mlm power couple. love em
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 20:57:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15324168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: In which Giles comes out to Jenny. And then Jenny comes out to Giles.





	gettin' bi

Rupert Giles was in an office supply store at two-thirty-one in the morning, and his Slayer was sitting next to him with the candy bar he had bought her at the counter. He was suddenly very grateful for the ridiculous hours Sunnydale kept; his only real free time was after patrol, and he couldn’t think of another way to acquire more index cards that wouldn’t attract his girlfriend’s attention. This, unfortunately, was the unexpected problem with having a particularly attentive sweetheart: Jenny had by this point become quite aware of his little idiosyncrasies, and even more aware of the fact that whenever he was building up his store of index cards, he was generally planning out something he wanted to say to her _exactly right._

“Giles,” said Buffy, “if you spend any more time staring at these cards that all look the same, you owe me two more candy bars and a ride home.”

“Buffy, you are not getting two more candy bars and I already said I would drive you home,” said Giles without looking away from the multicolored index cards. When planning how to ask Jenny out, he’d bought purple—should he perhaps spring for those again? There always was something to be said about tradition, but Jenny herself was a rather untraditional soul—

 _“Giles,_ ” whined Buffy, “I wanna go _home,_ can’t you just tell Ms. Calendar whatever it is _without_ writing it down on the exact perfect index card?”

It occurred to Giles that Jenny might not be the only person picking up on his habits. “That is—how do you—I might just be buying index cards to buy index cards,” he stammered.

Buffy, unbothered by Giles’s embarrassment, went back to the candy bar.

Giles turned back to the index cards, already half-drafting a speech in his head.  _You’ll perhaps remember Ethan Rayne,_ it began, and then he winced a bit, because he didn’t really want to start a speech with that. _Jenny, now that our relationship is getting more serious—_ but even if it was, he still wasn’t sure if Jenny was quite comfortable with that fact; she’d gotten quite flustered when he’d brought up her coming to England over the summer to meet his parents. _Jenny, I’m not sure of your familiarity with the complex nature of attraction and sexuality—_ good lord, that sounded both demeaning and pedantic. She might just call him a snob.

“You have worried face,” Buffy observed, pulling herself up from the floor and holding out the candy bar. “You want a bite? Candy helps me stop wigging out, sometimes, like right now, you know, seeing as I have homework and you’re standing in front of index cards freaking out about something. Not exactly a recipe for a stress-free Buffy.”

Giles considered this, then took the candy bar and took a delicate bite. “Thank you,” he said, and meant it.

Buffy gave him an amused quirk of a smile, then said, “I wanna pick the radio station on the drive home.”

* * *

 

Giles was _thoroughly_ exhausted by the time he reached his apartment, thanks in part to the atrocious amount of loud music Buffy had insisted on playing “so that you don’t fall asleep at the wheel and crash into a tree and wake up a vampire and get your blood sucked!” Never mind that few vampires lived in trees, these days—most lived in crypts. Or caves.

To his complete surprise, the light was on in his apartment. He paused, nervous, outside the door, finding himself hoping for the very first (and presumably only) time that Jenny had _not_ chosen tonight of all nights to drop by unexpectedly. Shifting the plastic bag containing the index cards, he stepped inside, peering cautiously into his apartment.

There was very audible and very familiar snoring from the couch. Grinning a bit, Giles gently set the index cards down on his counter (right by a neatly folded leather jacket), then moved to the couch, picking Jenny up. He was exhausted, true, but not quite exhausted enough to let her sleep on the _couch_ of all places. What sort of gentleman did that?

Jenny stirred as he was carrying her up the stairs. “ _You,_ ” she mumbled, “keep _fucking insane_ hours. What time is it, four in the morning?”

“Three,” Giles corrected, “and yes, and it’s a Friday, so I’m fine. Kindly do _not_ start in on me when I am very chivalrously carrying you upstairs.”

Jenny mumbled something about chivalry being a social construct that let guys do the bare minimum, clumsily kissed Giles’s shoulder, and fell back asleep. Giles, who had by this point reached the landing, adjusted her in his arms before taking the two steps necessary to set her down on the bed, awkwardly kick off his shoes, and lie down next to her.

She rolled onto her side, and he studied her face, feeling that familiar apprehension well up in him. After a long moment, during which he rather wished he had the ability to get a few hours of sleep, worry-free, he reluctantly pulled himself back up and out of bed. Rupert Giles was never one to leave index cards unattended and un-written on, particularly not when they pertained to Jenny Calendar.

The lamp downstairs was still on. Sitting down at his desk, Giles began to draft, grateful for the late hours he kept: he wouldn’t want to just be writing sleep-deprived nonsense.

* * *

 

_Ms. Jenny Calendar as I like you quite a lot it seems I should mention my romantic preferences = both men and women. also you have very pretty eyes_

* * *

 

Thoroughly satisfied with the quality of his work, Giles rested his head on the desk and had a small argument with himself about whether or not sleeping in his bed would be worth pulling himself up from the chair and trudging up an entire flight of stairs. The argument was solved when he fell quite soundly asleep.

* * *

 

“Oh, sweetie.”

Giles jerked awake. Jenny was reading an index card. Jenny was reading an _index card,_ which meant he had _written something_ on that card in a sleep-deprived stupor. In his effort to snatch the index card away from Jenny, he overbalanced in his chair and toppled to the floor, staring with horror up at the ceiling.

Jenny sat down next to him and dropped a kiss to his nose. “You know,” she said, “you don’t have to write _everything_ down on index cards, especially not when you can just tell your _very_ bisexual girlfriend what’s up instead.”

It took Giles approximately six-and-a-half seconds to parse what had just happened. Then he pulled himself up, dusting himself off, and said in a half-affronted, half-delighted tone of voice, “I have been under a lot of duress trying to figure out how to tell you—the exact same thing you just told me?”

“I like you so much,” said Jenny, and let him pull her to her feet as well. “You make things so needlessly complex and you’re so damn _cute_ about it.”

“Oh,” said Giles, and grinned, Jenny’s hands in his. “Well—that’s—quite all right, then.”

“Do I _really_ have pretty eyes?” Jenny added, and batted her lashes, beaming.

“The prettiest,” said Giles softly, and his smile widened when she stood on tiptoe to kiss him.


End file.
